Nanny States or Why Marty Deeks Said Screw It!
by thmsmgnm
Summary: Motorcycles have always been a part of Marty Deeks life, they help him achieve his...well state of Zen a place of oneness with his spirit, the wind, and the sound of the engine. He doesn't need a nanny interfering with that. No matter who it is or what the cost.


**Nanny States**

**or **

**Why Marty Deeks Said Fuck It.**

**A ThmsMgnm Story.**

**Part One**

**This Is Not Over Yet**

Marty Deeks quietly road home with Kenzi and listened to her go on about Hetty, NCIS, and the rules about motorcycles.

As he sat in the bitch seat of the Caddy he watch all the Asian super bikes, Harleys, and various other motorcycle pass by, and he began to tune out the sound of his partner's voice. He thought about all the good times he had intended to have, the weekend rides he had and his annoyance grew.

The bike THAT HE HAD BOUGHT WITH HIS OWN FUCKING MONEY, was his gift to himself for surviving and coming out the other side of the his ordeal. He was trying to deal with the situation, to relax and enjoy the good things in life.

Then Hetty had to stick her beak in his good times. How little she knew about him and his history with motorcycles...

The more he thought about it the more his frustration and annoyance grew. There were more motorcycles where that one came from, but he had bought that one because it spoke to him.

What made him even madder was the smug look on Callen G. Douchebags face and Super SEAL acting talking about unwritten rules.

He could not even begin to think why he had relented and given up his motorcycle keys. He was disgusted with himself and the way he let Hetty and the two dicks cow him into giving up his bike.

Some how he was going to fix this. But right now he just wanted to get home and get a couple of beers in him so that he could think things through..

This is not over yet. Not by a long shot.

**Kensi Beautiful Kensi..Would You Shut Up If I Had My Tongue In Your Mouth And My Hands...**

After Kensi offered to give him a ride home, since he was sans wheels, she had launched into a diatribe about people with PTSD, traumatic events and some other psychological bull. Deeks responded as he always did when she ramble about annoying things or ticked him off. He tuned her out.

Kensi, beautiful Kensi...how many ways could I love you...with all may heart and in more positions that the Kama Sutra... But right now would you shut up if I had my tongue in your mouth and my hands on your ass? Deek mused to himself as Kensi prattled on about motorcycles and thrill seeking accidents...

She was beautiful, sexy, and would probably be a wild cat in the sack...the kind of woman who would make him love her forever if there was a chance...but Deeks wondered what she would think about his past or the toys he kept locked away. She would probably start lecturing him about the danger.

Deeks shook his head and looked out the windows.

"Aw come on partner it is only a bike and you will get over it."

"It is far more than just a bike Kenzi and I doubt I will, just get over it."

From the look on Kenzi's face she just realized that Hetty taking Deke's keys away might not be the end of the situation.

Kensi called him to attention, "Marty... why don't we hit one of your favorite bars and have a few beers...I am sure it will help cool things... out."

"I got beers in the frig, if I want one I will drink one..." Marty responded flatly.

"Marty, How about I come in and drink one of..." Kensi tried to wrangle an inviation into Marty's home...and found for the first time since he came back from sick leave that he wasn't willing to let her in.

"Not feeling like company right now. Kenz. I would like to be alone right now. I have some stuff I need to do." Marty was quick to deny her an invitation to come into his home.

"O.K. But if you need a ride to work tomorrow you can..."

"I still have a car Kenz unless I am not allowed to own a V8 speedster on 4 wheels now."

"Marty."

"Good night Kenzi."

Marty shut the door of the oversize shitbag of a Caddy Ute and was strode towards his place, not looking back or waiving. With every step his irriation at today's events grew.

**Home Brooding Home**

The truth of the matter is that he hadn't just bought it the new bike, he had owned since three days after getting out of the hospital. While this was a new bike, he had motor cycles of all types since he was old enough to reach the foot pegs. Hell, he had legally owned bikes off and on for years since he had turned 18. From Harley Davidson to the Japanese Rice Rockets that most patrol officers cursed while on duty but lusted for when out of uniforms.

Marty Deeks never confided to anyone at NCIS but at one time he had consider going into the LAPD Motorcycle Patrol Unit. In fact it had been one of three plum assignments, that in his personal view were worthy of Officer Martin Deeks when he was waiting to see if he made it into the Detective Bureau. By order of importance; LAPD Detective, LAPD Motorcycle Patrol Officer, and K9. Hell other than being a Detective or Motorcycle Patrol Officer, riding around with a furry partner that would rip out a throat to back him up seemed like an awesome job.

In truth a younger Marty Deeks thought a few years working in all three assignments would be the trifecta of an LAPD.

But alas he was only an LAPD Detective, who now found that the assignment of working with NCIS OSP was no longer a cool position or a hoot. It was now a drag with side order of jaw agony and emasculation thrown in.

**More Bikes...Than...Blye Ever Sat Her Shapely Ass On**

What pissed Marty Deeks off was that unlike little Ms. Blye who ran around lecturing him on the dangers of motorcycles and Ms. Napoleon Lange. Marty Deeks wasn't some newb when it came to the Steel Horse.

Motorcycles and Martin "Marty" Deeks had a long history together. Hell, when he was awaiting word on whether he had been selected by the Detective Bureau he had thinking about a fall back assignment with either the Motorcycle Patrol Unit. While waiting, he had signed up and taken the CA Motorcycle safety classes, advanced rider classes to have the certs to put him in contention for the unit.

The real laugh was that he was already an experienced rider before taking those classes with a small stint on an amateur Motor Cross team and he had spent a fair share of time on racing Super Bikes at the local tracks and at various less than legal street races before he ever filled out the LAPD application form.

The simple truth was in his misspent youth, he had probably stolen more motorcycles before graduating High School, than Ms. Kenzi Blye ever sat her shapely ass on.

**Boredom, Research, and Beer**

After hours of Play Station Games, about four ice cold Dos Equis, and couple of frustrating hours of scrolling through the internet, and the NCIS handbook, Marty finally went face down in his pillow and hoped some peaceful dreams.

His luck still wasn't getting any better.

"**3 AM...gasping for air."**

Marty swam up through the pain, screams, and sounds of the cordless drills digging into his teeth and the taunts of his captor...only to sit up screaming in his sweat soaked sheets that were wrapped around him like chains...

Marty hand instinctively grabbed the pistol setting on the night stand next to his bed and he began sweeping the room for threats...it took a long 10 second count for him to realize it was just a dream that had woken him up.

With that realization...Marty sat the gun back on the night stand and found that he was having a hard time breathing. He spun his legs off the bed and on to the carpeted floor. As he struggled for breath he saw the read numbers in the shadow room mocking him. His alarm told him that it was 3am and as he was gasping for air he decided that a ride on his newest bike would help him clear his head and...

**Fear Turns To Rage**

"Motherfucking little midget BITCH!"

It was 3am and he was no longer gasping for air...the rage fueled adrenalin that now coursed through his system had supercharged his lungs and now he was raging and ready for a fight and his body was gulping in air to prepare for combat.

"Fuck it, I have fucking had it with that bitch, Callen G Motherfucking Douchebag, SUPERSEAL QBALL mother fucker."

Marty was beyond pissed, here he was sitting at home when he wanted to take and early morning motorcycle ride to clear his head before he had to go into work. But no, that little maternalistic bitch thought she somehow had the right to dictate what kind of vehicle he could drive. What truly incensed him was that he had check the relevant codes and the NCIS handbook had no such language barring an employ from owning or driving a motorcycle as long they adhered to the relevant state codes and physical requirements. Further as an employee of the LAPD on assignment as a liaison to NCIS he was not even subject to the NCIS Employee Handbook if such a rule existed.

With the decision made Marty Deeks untangled himself from his sweat soaked sheet stood up sling off his blue LAPD academy T shirt, kicked out of his pajama pants, and soon his boxer briefs followed. Martin free of his clothing stalked to his bathroom to see just how hot a shower he could stand.


End file.
